


Do Not Disturb: Threesome in Progress

by alkjira, diemarysues



Series: Three [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing alkjira and I were working on. Where she writes the set-up, and I write the *muttermuttermutter*</p><p>Set in the 'Gay Naked Threesome Incestuous Three-way Drama' and 'A Bed For Three? Right This Way, Gentlemen' 'verse. With fic titles like that, you know this's in good company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Disturb: Threesome in Progress

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [At Your Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/950371) by [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira). 



> Yes we're still at it. At least, until alkjira gets off her butt and writes more smut, honestly. (Don't hit me, bb.) [I wouldn't hit you, but I might take over our pillow fortress without advance warning]

“The car is here!” Dwalin called as he stepped into Bilbo’s flat. “And it’s been here for the last ten minutes. Didn’t you see my text?”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” came Bilbo’s voice from his bedroom. Dwalin took a moment to imagine those words and Bilbo’s bedroom in a rather different set of circumstances. It was a pretty picture. Especially if you also added Thorin to it. “I’m just - have you seen my handkerchiefs?”

 

“You use handkerchiefs? You _have_ handkerchiefs?” This was news to Dwalin. Waistcoats, yes; fairly ridiculous red velvet coat, yes – but hankies?

 

There was a slightly too long silence. “I just need one for the pocket to my suit jacket. You said I should bring something fancy to wear.”

 

Dwalin leaned back against the hallway wall. “What I said was that _I_ needed to bring something fancy. Like trousers that aren’t jeans that are also free of stains and holes. You’re always dressed fancy-like.”

 

“I’m not –”

 

“Waistcoats,” Dwalin pointed out. “And apparently handkerchiefs.”

 

This time the silence was a bit sulking. Oh boy.

 

“I _like_ you wearing fancy things,” Dwalin said, pushing away from the wall and starting to walk down the hallway to Bilbo’s bedroom. Hell, if he couldn’t talk Bilbo out of sulking, maybe he could make him happy in _other_ ways. He could do five minutes. “And if you’re bringing some fancy suit that needs a bloody handkerchief it’s not like I’ll _mind_ as long as _I’m_ not the one looking like penguin. I’ll just look forward to getting to take it off you later.”

 

He wondered if fancy meant black. Bilbo looked good in black; it made his pale skin almost glow. Of course, he would look even prettier not wearing anything at all, spread out on the disgustingly large bed that Thorin was sure to have in the hotel. Dwalin’d be more annoyed about that, but it would be rather convenient for what he had planned.

 

Although, that being said, he wasn’t sure that what he’d plan would matter. Dwalin knew Thorin and Bilbo had been conspiring behind his back - _again_ , he might add -, but that was still fine. It was petty of him to complain when they’d made him come hard enough last time that his brain had practically leaked from his skull.

 

“You’ll only get to undress me if you promise me all buttons will remain attached to the shirt,” Bilbo said, not looking back as Dwalin entered the bedroom. The blond was currently bent over, peering into the bottom drawer of his dresser, and Dwalin took a moment to enjoy the view. And then another. He wondered, a bit distractedly, what Bilbo’s lovely arse would look like in a nice pair of jeans. Tight jeans. With two conveniently placed pockets for him to slide his hands into, so they rested against said lovely arse. And a brass button to undo, a zipper to slide down and –

 

“Dwalin?” Bilbo asked over his shoulder.

 

Oh, right.

 

“Your clothes have much too many buttons anyway,” Dwalin informed his lover. “And they’re damned small.”

 

“And they _like_ to stay attached to cloth,” Bilbo said as he closed the drawer. With a sigh he then straightened and turned towards Dwalin. “I give up, I can’t find them. I think they’ve gone on an adventure and left me behind.”

 

“Thorin owns the damned hotel, it’s not like he’ll throw you out if you’re missing a handkerchief.” And hopefully they would only do the barest minimum of socialising before hanging up the ‘Do Not Disturb’-sign.

 

“But he’d throw you out for wearing jeans with holes?”

 

Dwalin snorted and reached out to pull Bilbo close enough to steal a kiss. “No, but he’d pointedly leave clothes in our room for me to change into and refuse to let me have any room service until gave into his outrageous demands. Thorin is something of a snob at times. Didn’t you see the coat he was wearing when you first met him? Probably cost him a few hundred quid.”

 

“Darling, that was a Belstaff; it probably cost him close to a thousand.”

 

“I think you just proved my point,” Dwalin said, tilting Bilbo’s face up for another kiss. “Mmm, can we stay here instead? I’m beginning to think this vacation thing is overrated. Thorin can bloody well join us here again; he always flits about the world anyway.”

 

“I was promised a hot tub,” Bilbo said, wrapping his arms around Dwalin’s neck. “My flat does not have a hot tub. It doesn’t even have a bath.”

 

“I could blow you in the shower?” Dwalin offered hopefully, letting his hands slip down Bilbo’s back until they cupped his ample arse. The large man hummed happily as each cheek gave him a perfect handful. “Would that make things better?”

 

“You can blow me in the shower once we get back,” Bilbo said and squirmed a little. “Now we should get going before the poor driver thinks that we’re lost. And before we miss our flight.”

 

Despite his noble intentions, the blond didn’t move from the embrace.

 

“It’s gonna be hard -” Dwalin paused meaningfully, “keeping my hands to myself on the plane.”

 

“Well if you _want_ to be the one to give Dori a heart attack, please don’t keep them to yourself.” Bilbo smiled up at him. “I think he’s barely recovered from the… what did they call it? ‘ _Gay Naked Threesome Incestuous Three-way Drama_ ’. He wasn’t exactly jumping with joy when I told him we were heading out to Thorin.”

 

Dwalin frowned and Bilbo pressed a kiss to one downturned corner of his mouth. “Nothing like that, darling; he’s just being Dori. He wouldn’t be him if he thought the people around him were making good decisions with their lives - just ask Nori or Ori if you don’t believe me. But that’s why he’s such a good publicist. He’ll always tell me if I’m doing something stupid. And sometimes when I'm not doing something stupid.”

 

“So, instead of going with my plan of wanking you off beneath a blanket, I could blow you in the airplane restroom?” Dwalin offered, only half-joking. It would be a _damned_ fine sight to see Bilbo squirming in his seat, cheeks flushed and trying not to make too much noise. “That way we won’t end up on bloody twitter and Dori will live another day.”

 

“No, that’d still be in the land of a heart attack,” Bilbo said and shook his head. “Not to mention that we probably wouldn’t fit. And -” Bilbo’s clever fingers stroked over Dwalin’s back. “We should behave until we get to Thorin. It’d be nice, to have this weekend just for us, without having Dori and Tauriel calling us about press releases.”

 

“Fair point,” Dwalin agreed, rubbing his chin on the top of the smaller man’s head. “And I wouldn’t want to tire you out before we’ve arrived,” he added, smirking when Bilbo huffed.

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

“We _really_ need to get going now,” Dwalin said regretfully and loosened his grip on Bilbo. “But by the way, I’m not filming anything next week. So if you’re up to public displays of whatever as we’re heading back, I’m up for it.”

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Avoiding the question of what you mean by ‘public displays of whatever’, what does it matter if you’re working or not?”

 

“If don’t need to be anywhere I can just stay at home and let Tauriel handle all the questions,” Dwalin grinned. “She not so secretly likes all this publicity crap; any publicity is good publicity and all that. And Thorin could use some headlines as well.”

 

“Don’t you think the last ones were enough? And might I remind you: Dori, heart attack.”

 

Dwalin shrugged. “The last big headlines properly connected to Erebor Hotels was when that bloody popstar kid threw up all over the receptionist. Anything related to us would be an improvement.”

 

“Right,” Bilbo said slowly as he lifted his bag. “Shall we then?”

 

* * *

  
Dwalin had expected Thorin to meet them as they checked in. That was the entire point of them going to this hotel after all. If they’d wanted a hotel without Thorin, they could just have gone somewhere without a fucking airplane ride being involved. It wasn’t so much the actual flying that was the problem, but the security checks. For some reason they made Dwalin nervous, like he _was_ trying to smuggle in a weapon or something like that. And that probably showed, because somehow he always got picked for random checks. Those had only gotten a little better ever since he started appearing on the telly.

 

At any rate, Thorin hadn’t welcomed them at the lobby, and he hadn’t even bothered to leave a message at reception. Nor had he texted either of them since the day before.

 

Dwalin scowled as he saw a worried little frown appear on Bilbo’s forehead. His cousin better have a bloody good excuse. He knew it couldn’t be something related to Dís and her boys, or anything else family-associated, or someone would already have called him. So it had to be work related. Dwalin did not approve.

 

They didn’t see Thorin at all until a couple of hours later.

 

Bilbo had unpacked (fussy little thing that he was; who cared about unpacking when you were only staying two nights?) and fallen either in love or lust with the hot tub in their suite. Perhaps both.

 

He hadn’t actually tried it, because apparently it was ‘silly’ to take a soak when they would be going out for dinner soon - hopefully with Thorin as that was what they had planned - but there had been fondling and dreamy sighs. If he found Bilbo rubbing off against it, there would be questions. (After pictures. Priorities.)

 

Dwalin had just been about to take a quick shower (and conveniently join Bilbo who was _already_ in the shower) when someone knocked on the door to their suite.

 

“Dwalin, Bilbo,” came Thorin’s muffled voice through the thick door. “It’s me.”

 

As Dís would have said: _Well, duh_.

 

Preparing to rip his cousin a new one for being too much of a workaholic (and then kiss it better, if he was properly chastised), Dwalin opened the door. Unfortunately, he didn’t really have a chance to say much of anything before Thorin pushed inside and looked around.

 

“Where’s Bilbo? I need to talk to him.”

 

“And hello to you too,” Dwalin said drily. “I think you have to stop complaining that I’m the rude bastard now.” He snagged Thorin by the shoulder of his jacket and pulled him in for a proper kiss hello. Well, he tried to, but by the way it was barely returned, he could tell Thorin was clearly distracted by something. “What do you want with Bilbo?” Dwalin sighed. “Except the obvious of course. And he’s in the shower.”

 

“Shower?” For a moment an interested look flashed over Thorin’s face and he looked towards the bathroom - then he licked his lips and turned his attention back to Dwalin. “No, I - there’s a bit of an emergency.”

 

“Requiring Bilbo?” Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten that he’s a chef and not a doctor?”

 

Thorin looked a little uncomfortable. “We’re having a bit of problem in the kitchens actually.”

 

Dwalin scowled and crossed his arms lest they forget himself and reach out for his annoying cousin. To hold him or to strangle him, Dwalin wasn’t sure. “We’re here on vacation, not so Bilbo can _work_ , Thorin. I know the word vacation isn’t something you hear a lot, but -”

 

“I know,” Thorin said, holding up his hands. “I know. But I’d really appreciate it if he would consider it. My head chef left, together with my sous chef. Apparently they’re eloping, getting married. I don’t know. But I do know that in two hours I’m going have to have a dinner ready for a pair of presidents whose countries do not particularly like each other. And then there’s a midnight…” Thorin ran a hand down his face. “I don’t even remember what they told me, a midnight _something_ that requires food, and if the third world war breaks out because the food was _not_ a good enough distraction from a few decades, or thirty, of bad blood, I’m not sure I -”

 

“Hey now,” Dwalin said, holding up his hands. Thorin had almost been babbling. He never did that. “So to sum it up, the fate of the world rests on Bilbo cooking? Aren’t there any other chefs in this city?”

 

“None that actually satisfy the criteria of being _here_ at the hotel. I tried, but we couldn’t find anyone who was available and competent enough. And _two_ hours to dinner, Dwalin, that’s not a lot of time. Especially not if I have to fly someone here.”

 

Before Bilbo had entered his life, two hours had been what Dwalin had spent on food per week maybe, but it didn’t seem like Thorin would be interested in hearing that at the moment.

 

“I’ll go get him,” Dwalin sighed. “You try and calm down.”

 

* * *

 

Of course, Thorin didn’t listen and trailed behind Dwalin as he walked towards the bathroom.

 

Whoever had built this place had made a good job with the sound-proofing, because it wasn’t until Dwalin opened the bathroom door that he could hear the splash of water.

 

“Bilbo,” he called out, because the last thing any of them needed would be Bilbo getting a concussion from being startled and slipping in the shower. “Thorin has decided to grace us with his presence.”

 

“Thorin?” The water cut-off. “Just a second. I’m just - I’m almost done.” His voice got a little lower, more laced with promise. “Unless you want to join me…?”

 

“Well _I_ want to,” Dwalin drawled. “But apparently that’ll make the third world war start.”

 

Thorin aimed a slap at the back of Dwalin’s head, but the taller man caught his hand and pulled him closer instead, grinning dangerously.

 

“What?” Bilbo asked, confused.

 

“I’ve come to ask a favour,” Thorin said earnestly, while at the same time trying to elbow Dwalin in the side.

 

“Play your cards right and you’ll end up with a hot tub in your apartment after all,” Dwalin said.

 

Bilbo poked his head out behind the corner. Half his head was still covered in suds, the hair on the other side hanging down in heavy, wet curls, and his skin glistened intriguingly with water. “I’m getting water everywhere,” he said with a displeased grimace. “What _are_ you talking about?”

 

“According to Thorin, you’re about to save the world,” Dwalin said with an exaggeratedly wide smile as he swung his arm around Thorin’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo, always being too fucking nice for his own good, ended up agreeing to help Thorin prevent a third world war. Not that Dwalin _minded_ the prevention of such a thing - even if he thought that war was a huge load of fucking hyperbole from Thorin’s side. The real problem was that Bilbo really was too much of a pushover at times.

 

It was good that Dori was such an uptight bastard or else Bilbo would’ve been run ragged long ago, fluttering about the country doing every single thing that people ever asked of him.

 

Dwalin sighed as he sat down on the bed, which he would now be completely alone in as Bilbo was apparently busy saving Thorin’s ass, and Thorin was apparently busy helping world peace. Or just fretting in whatever office he’d appropriated as his own.

 

This was not how he’d envisaged his hols going.

 

A few minutes later a thought occurred to Dwalin. How was it that Bilbo could say no when Dwalin asked him to make more cookies, but said yes to Thorin’s pale blues when it came to things like preventing unnecessary death and destruction?

 

Life just wasn’t fair.

 

* * *

 

When Dwalin woke up the next morning it was with an armful of sleeping Bilbo, so apparently a third world war had been prevented. Or at least Bilbo had gotten away before the fighting had begun. (Though Dwalin would’ve thought that that would be cause for them to skip country rather than continue sleeping.)

 

Or perhaps everyone had already died and this was the afterlife – heaven, rather, because Dwalin could imagine hell wouldn’t allow him to spend the rest of forever like this. Except… Dwalin looked over his shoulder. Where was Thorin?

 

“He’ll stop by later,” an apparently awake Bilbo murmured, and perhaps there had been a nuclear war or something, because where else would the mindreading capabilities have come from? Dwalin had always admired that Wolverine fellow. Though Dwalin would prefer startling flexibility to unbreakably metal claws. More useful for his interests, when all was said and done.

 

“How did you know what I was wondering?” Dwalin asked.

 

“What else would you be thinking about?” Bilbo replied with a yawn and curled closer to Dwalin’s side, closing his eyes again. This had the fortunate side effect of pressing Bilbo’s cock against Dwalin’s thigh, and _that_ part of Bilbo certainly didn’t seem inclined to go back to sleep again.

 

“How late is later?” Dwalin said as he calculated how much time it’d take to get the hot tub going and then practice holding his breath as he sucked Bilbo off.

 

“What time is it?” Bilbo asked sleepily, but before Dwalin could answer there was a click of a key card at the door. “Ah,” Bilbo said when Thorin shouldered the door open and stepped inside. “I guess it’s later now.”

 

“I come bearing pancakes,” Thorin said, holding up a covered wooden tray as an offering to please wrathful gods, and sure enough, Dwalin already felt a bit less wrathful. The pancakes smelled delicious. Almost as good as Bilbo’s.

 

“Again, thank you.” Thorin's words to Bilbo were heartfelt as he sat the tray down on a small table. “I don’t know how I can repay you. Especially since you’ve already turned down my offers to actually pay you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bilbo smiled as he sat up in the bed, sheets pooled in his lap. “Just promise me that you won’t tell Dori. He dislikes when I end up making, and I quote ‘public appearances’ without telling him first. I was just here on vacation. Definitely did not do any cooking.”

 

“I don’t know,” Dwalin said slowly. “I think Thorin should make things up to us.”

 

“Us?” Thorin asked, with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I had to go to bed alone last night,” Dwalin said emphatically. “And I’d say that was your fault.”

 

Thorin smiled, and while it wasn’t the beaming megawatt smile of Bilbo, it was very fetching nonetheless. “I think I can come up with something… suitable.”

 

Promising as this was, the charged moment between the three of them was shattered by a loud rumbling.

 

Bilbo blushed when two sets of blue eyes looked at him, both so different but equally intense – and equally teasing. “I worked very hard last night,” he said hotly. “And I’ve every right to be hungry.”

 

“Yes, indeed.” Thorin brushed his knuckles over one flushed cheek, and then laid his lips over the skin he’d just touched. “Let me serve you.”

 

As suggestive as that sounded – who needed corny porn when he had Bilbo and Thorin? – Dwalin despaired that they three were still completely clothed instead of slickly sliding their naked bodies against each other. Still, Thorin had brought an exceedingly tall stack of pancakes that they could share comfortably between them. Also on the tray was a dainty jug of syrup, and a bowl heaped with lusciously sweet strawberries. Food was important for energy after all, and the least Dwalin could do was make sure Bilbo(’s stomach) was satisfied before he satisfied himself.

 

Thorin and he would have to be bigger men to not feed Bilbo some of the fruit by hand. The smallest of the three of them was entirely too tempting for his own good. Not only were Bilbo’s lips plump around the succulent fruit, but he let out entirely indecent sounds as he ate. There were his pleased sighs, his hums of satisfaction, his lewd slurping.

 

He seemed to be hungry enough to abandon his fussy manners, letting the red juice dribble down his chin, tongue swiping over his lips almost like a second thought. He also decided to fit his finger into the jug to mop up the remaining syrup. “Waste not, want not,” he chirped, and popped his forefinger into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked it clean, noisily, and his eyelashes fanned against his cheeks when his eyelids fluttered closed in pleasure.

 

Dwalin was suspicious. Was the cheeky sod doing that on purpose? It seemed the kind of thing he would do. The notion was lent merit when Bilbo slowly removed his finger, dragging his tongue along it, and winked at Thorin’s dumbstruck look.

 

Dwalin actually thought it was surprising that Thorin didn’t have an erection straining away at his tight trousers, just like Thorin probably thought it surprising Dwalin hadn’t pushed Bilbo down and swallowed Bilbo’s cock to the root.

 

There was no cocksucking, unfortunately, not even when they adjourned to the bathroom. Not even when more and more skin was bared for their mutual viewing pleasure.

 

Dwalin had the least amount of clothes to deal with, having gone to bed with only boxers on, as was usual practice. He dropped them without preamble, and hung back to watch the show.

 

Thorin was wearing a T-shirt (though it probably cost more than Dwalin’s one tuxedo), and he arched his back as he pulled it up off his head. His hair tumbled over his broad shoulders, a little messy, and the shirt fell to the floor with a soft rustle.

 

Bilbo couldn’t seem to decide which powerful chest he preferred; Dwalin felt flattered at the attention, and at the same time could appreciate the sight Thorin made. His chest hair was more dense than Dwalin’s (definitely denser than the smattering of curls Bilbo had), and the trail of hair that led down his belly was so neat Dwalin was pretty sure it was trimmed. Thorin unbuttoned his trousers, practically peeling them off they were so tight. He somehow managed to do so without looking ridiculous, exposing long legs, powerful thighs, and a distinct lack of pants.

 

Nice.

 

Bilbo’s gaze had changed from blatant hunger to soft shyness. He was tugging at the front of his shirt nervously, as if trying to cover himself. Dwalin wasn’t having any of that.

 

Yes, it was true that Bilbo wasn’t as built as Dwalin or Thorin. But he was still attractive in spite of that fact – maybe even because of it. Dwalin moulded his front to Bilbo’s back. He slipped his hands underneath Bilbo’s thin shirt, smoothing over peach-soft skin and trying to wordlessly convey that he loved Bilbo for his soft body (and sharp tongue). It was a relief when Bilbo relaxed against him and allowed Dwalin to tug his shirt off.

 

Really, Bilbo only needed to look at his and Thorin’s expressions to know how they felt about him.

 

All the same, this was all forgotten when Thorin started the controls on the hot tub. Bilbo all but vibrated with happiness – his infatuation with the thing seemed justified though, as even Dwalin found most of his tension leak from his shoulders when he settled into the hot water. They were on telly; surely either of them could afford one. And he put one in his house then Bilbo and Thorin might visit more often…

 

“What are you scheming?” his cousin asked, squinting suspiciously.

 

“Absolutely nothing.” Dwalin didn’t even sound believable to his own ears, and quickly changed the subject. “So what happened last night?”

 

“What happened last night was a miracle.” Thorin rubbed his forehead wearily, before curling his lips in Bilbo’s direction. “A miracle in the shape of a pretty little chef.”

 

Looked like someone had caught Dwalin’s habit of calling Bilbo pretty – a fact that was also noticed by Bilbo.

 

“I am only one of those things, and that’s a chef. A television chef at that.”

 

Dwalin pulled Bilbo close, tucking him to his side. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your food is to die for. I hope these presidents don’t decide to wage war over you.” He grinned when Bilbo groaned.

 

“‘M not Helen of Troy, either," Bilbo replied.

 

Thorin barked out a laugh, rippling the water as he pressed in on Dwalin’s other side. “The face that launched a thousand fighter jets.”

 

“I think arse would be more appropriate.” Dwalin smoothed his hand over said arse, for needless emphasis.

 

“Arse would be more appropriate as a name to call you,” Bilbo snapped. His words lacked fire; he sounded embarrassed more than anything.

 

Dwalin pushed his lower lip out into a pout. “That is a very unkind thing to say to someone who ate and slept alone last night.”

 

“Bilbo didn’t eat until this morning,” Thorin pointed out, flicking water at Dwalin.

 

“And Thorin went to sleep later than I did, in his own bed," Bilbo added.

 

“That’s not the point here," Dwalin protested weakly.

 

“Oh?” Thorin pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, inadvertently or purposely showing off his muscled arms. “What is the point?”

 

Dwalin… didn’t know how to put it in words. He didn’t want to admit that, well. He’d had plans for this holiday. He just thought that Thorin would respect them – that Thorin would respect the fact that both Dwalin and Bilbo had made the journey here for him. The least he could do was furnish them (furnish Dwalin) with his attention.

 

But. It had been in the pursuit of saving the world. And Bilbo had agreed and –

 

That discussion could wait for a more serious time.

 

“The point is to make you two feel sorry enough to make my day for me.” Dwalin gave a little growl when Thorin merely smirked back before grabbing him. Thorin hummed in contentment as Dwalin chased away the traces of syrup in his mouth. 

 

Yes, this was definitely a better alternative to talking. This time Thorin was kissing back properly, and through the long, slow licks into his mouth, Dwalin could finally tell that he’d been missed.  He had his hand pressed against Thorin’s throat, not tightly enough to cause damage, but he could feel the pulse quickening beneath his thumb. The water lapped at their bodies; earlier Dwalin would have been soothed by it, but with Thorin pressing up against him and all that wet skin –

 

Dwalin groaned and pushed Thorin more firmly against the edge of the tub. What he couldn’t articulate in words he could jolly well try to convey with his actions, and Dwalin cradled Thorin’s head gently as they kissed.

 

They didn’t keep to kissing. Thorin’s hands wandered over Dwalin’s water warmed skin, alighting trails of fire in their wake. Dwalin spared a moment to consider Bilbo, wondering whether he felt abandoned, and then he was wrenching his mouth from Thorin’s. Oh, fuck, that wasn’t playing fair –

 

“I think,” Thorin said, now that he was free to speak, “that Bilbo should be the one celebrated for now.” He gave Dwalin’s dick a slow pump underwater. “You’ll have to wait a little longer for your turn.”

 

Dwalin grinned even as his hips stuttered. “Suppose I can’t argue with that.”

 

Bilbo, who’d been languidly watching them, yelped as he was manhandled into position between Thorin and Dwalin’s larger bodies. Well, actually mostly on Dwalin’s lap, with large hands at his waist. “I was just going to doze off, you know.”

 

“You can if you’d like,” said Thorin, hand moving from Dwalin’s cock to Bilbo’s. “Don’t mind us.”

 

“Oh, yes, easier said that done,” Bilbo sniped. If he was really annoyed, though, they didn’t find out, as he moaned all the same with the firming of Thorin’s grip.

 

It should have been unfair that Bilbo was so perfect. He was unspeakably pretty, as well as clever, sharp, and funny. He was successful and had the credentials to back it up, was sexy without trying, and on top of it all, he’d just saved the world.

 

In the face of that, though, Dwalin just felt like the luckiest person in the world. (Thorin was the second-luckiest.) Atop Dwalin’s lap, Bilbo was half out of the water, and he looked sleek and otherworldly. His hair was wet and the colour of gold sunlight, his hazel eyes almost green. Good gods, what had Dwalin done right to deserve this treasure?

 

The water bubbled around them merrily, an additional sensation beyond their touches. It was just this side of hot, steaming the mirrors and only now starting to make the bathroom muggy. The air Dwalin sucked into his lungs was thick, almost tangible. It didn’t help his breathlessness, especially when Bilbo met their lips.

 

It was Thorin’s tongue that insistently slicked its way into Dwalin’s mouth. They’d never tried this before, not three people kissing at once, but fuck if he wanted to experiment with it more in the future. It was entirely too messy but it somehow worked. Dwalin brushed his knuckles over Thorin’s length and swallowed his groan, just like he swallowed Bilbo’s breathy curses.

 

“Bed,” Bilbo whispered, slipping from Dwalin’s greedy grip. “Bed now.”

 

They barely stopped to towel dry, and the lingering looks they cast were loaded enough that there was no need to shatter the silence between them. Still-warm from the water, the sheets were much too cold against Dwalin’s skin. Bilbo obviously agreed; he’d been deposited in the middle of the bed and now moaned softly as he squirmed into a more comfortable position. Moaned again when Thorin smoothed a hand down his belly, soothing.

 

Dwalin watched through the frame of damp lashes as Thorin’s hand wandered further south, fingers trailing the length of Bilbo’s cock. Dwalin didn’t know how Bilbo could stand that touch; feather-light, gentle, maddeningly teasing.

 

Dissatisfied with merely watching – though make no mistake, it was a _sight_ – Dwalin settled properly on Bilbo’s right to mouth at his neck. The shortest of the three arched his spine as blunt teeth marked their merry way along his shoulder. Smiling against soft skin, Dwalin glanced up. Thorin had his mouth to Bilbo’s ear, but his deep voice carried clearly in the cool hush of the morning.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Wicked as it was, Dwalin stole Bilbo’s answer, Bilbo’s very air when he roughly thumbed a nipple. As it stiffened satisfyingly, Bilbo gasped in a deep breath.

 

“You can ask for anything at all,” Thorin continued, dark and sultry. Obviously conference calls and phone sex was in their future. “We’re… at your service.”

 

Dwalin chuckled at this – the way their lover would seize and sigh at those simple words would never grow old – and Bilbo made a half-hearted grumble about certain unfair idiots who used their sexy voices to their advantage.

 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” he drawled, before moving to nibble at the nipped he’d been busy tormenting. Really, they should probably employ cameras as well. That Skype thing that the boys were always on about. Just so he and Thorin would be able to torment Bilbo with their voices and watch at the same time.

 

…or they could do that with the handcuffs tucked away into Dwalin’s suitcase. Maybe later.

 

He watched with half-lidded eyes as Bilbo fit his hand to the nape of Thorin’s neck. “Anything?”

 

Thorin’s lips twitched. “Anything.”

 

Now Dwalin’s gaze turned avid. He knew from experience that Bilbo had an excellent imagination – not only because of the bizarre but delicious food combinations he came up with, but because of the snippets of poetry and prose Dwalin sometimes found scribbled on notepaper. He only hoped that Bilbo realised that there were some positions that would be physically impossible. They three weren’t exactly as young and supple as they once were.

 

Finally Bilbo trailed his fingers over thin lips. “I want your mouth in me,” he told Thorin. “But I want both your cocks in _my_ mouth.” He turned to gauge Dwalin’s reaction. “Do you… can we try that?”

 

Oh, but wasn’t that a lovely picture? Dwalin moaned at the thought; Bilbo on his knees with his lips stretched wide around his cock, and Thorin’s hands securely parting Bilbo’s cheeks, face buried in –

 

“Yes.” Dwalin lurched forward, stole a kiss. “ _Yes_ , now –”

 

There was a bit of rearrangement required, but as it was in the pursuit of pleasure, there were no complaints. Thorin lay on his back, pillows piled underneath his head, and Bilbo lay over him raised on hands and knees. His legs were spread wide so his knees weren’t pressing down on any part of Thorin, but that could only be an advantage. Dwalin was up on his knees, and had the best view of proceedings.

 

He bit his lip and ran his fingertips through Bilbo’s damp curls. Mmmyes. Definitely the best view.

 

Deciding to be magnanimous, Dwalin sat back on his heels instead of pushing his cock into Bilbo’s mouth. No, instead Dwalin pushed Bilbo’s head downwards, watching carefully as inch after inch of _Thorin_ ’s dick disappeared past plump lips.

 

The angle wasn’t quite right for viewing Thorin’s lips, but Dwalin could meet his eyes and did. Thorin held his gaze unflinchingly, fingers spread wide over Bilbo’s arsecheeks, moving his mouth to his prize. Bilbo hummed around the cock in his mouth, wanton. He enjoyed this, did Bilbo; he’d once admitted with a charming blush that he’d especially loved the beard burn, shameful as it was.

 

Bilbo pulled up off Thorin’s cock abruptly, mouth open as he _whimpered_. His spine arched, his back curving delightfully. Dwalin hungrily took in the soft body above Thorin’s, the ridges of his backbone, the generous swell of his arse. Dwalin looked further back, noting that Thorin’s eyes were now shut, his startlingly straight nose nudging the crease of Bilbo’s arse.

 

He’d unknowingly raised himself back up on his knees; Dwalin felt a hot breath against his hip before Bilbo’s pink tongue traced the lines tattooed there. It was a familiar sensation and Dwalin leaned into it, letting his head fall back. Bilbo nibbled the jut of one hipbone, shifting to support himself on only one hand. With the other he grasped Dwalin’s erection. His fingers were small but strong. Dwalin had seen him kneading dough before; it was with a similar rhythmic motion that he stroked Dwalin now.

 

Dwalin rocked his hips forward in counterpoint to the ring of Bilbo’s fingers and thumb. The course of Bilbo’s mouth was leisurely, making its tantalising way along the crease between Dwalin’s thigh and abdomen. It was a kiss of relief, a breath of sweet air, when lips found his aching flesh.

 

He held his cock steady for Bilbo’s mouth, other hand braced in soft curls. Bilbo slowly sucked him down, and he was doing an admirable job of keeping steady despite the noisy slurps from Thorin. Dwalin had been in the same position as Thorin before, oh yes he had, with Bilbo’s arse high in the air, tempting. All those lovely sensitive patches of skin perfect for stroking and tasting, and that little furl of muscle, so much like a hidden treasure.

 

Dwalin rocked into that tight suction of heat, trying to be mindful of choking Bilbo accidentally. (That’d happened once. Not an enjoyable aftermath.) He reached down as best he could, free hand joining Bilbo’s, slippery over Thorin’s prick. The mattress undulated gently beneath them, reminding Dwalin of the waves of water in the tub (before the really vigorous bubble jets had started).

 

When Thorin slipped a finger in along his tongue, Bilbo let out a reedy whine – the shameless sound and the vibrations it cast were enough for Dwalin to spill, letting go of Thorin in favour of tugging at golden hair, riding out the crest of his bliss. A more selfish man would have been happy to list onto the bed and lay there without a care, but Dwalin found pleasure in giving pleasure, and so leaned over Thorin’s cock. Both he and Bilbo laved it with the rasping attention of their tongues, occasionally meeting their lips and exchanging the salty taste of precome.

 

Oh, he would never tire of that. It was almost preferable to the raspberry things Bilbo made. (Almost. Perhaps if they fed Thorin enough of them....)

 

Dwalin sneaked a glance in the space between Bilbo’ and Thorin’s bodies, and saw that a strong-fingered hand was tugging on Bilbo’s dick. It was not the best of approaches, but given the way Bilbo’s arms shook, he did not seem to mind. Thorin was breathing heavily, doubtlessly directing hot and cold sensations over Bilbo’s saliva-slicked skin, and his fingers seemed to unerringly find that sensitive spot inside Bilbo.

 

They’d definitely need to clean up afterwards. Dwalin knew for a fact that come wasn’t great in combo with chest hair.

 

Dwalin brought Thorin off, finally, pressing his fingers just against Thorin’s entrance. He swirled his tongue around Thorin’s cock, lapping as best he could without letting any liquid spill into his beard. He bestowed a kiss on the now-soft cock, gently, before moving up Thorin’s body – collecting and righting Bilbo as he went.

 

Thorin used the soiled sheets to clean them off, shoving them off the bed entirely once he was done. (Well, it was his hotel, that was his business.) They three settled against the downy pillows, fully prepared for a pre-lunch nap.

 

Dwalin yawned and moved Thorin’s slightly-wet hair from under his cheek. Bilbo had pillowed his head on Dwalin’s chest and was already snoring softly. He wrinkled his nose as Thorin kissed his cheek before nuzzling his face into Dwalin’s neck.

 

This holiday hadn’t exactly started on a stellar note. Dwalin closed his eyes, and listened to his two lovers breathe.

 

Definitely looking up, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if there are still formatting errors =/ There's something wrong with the spacing. Bluh.
> 
> Hope it didn't take away from the story.


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